Beautiful Pieces
by Hopeful Forgotten
Summary: Draco doesn't really have much of a choice. He has to end it, tonight. HPDM. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns the characters and the books that inspired this story. As much as I wish I could be her, my writing should be enough to implicate that we are FAR different people.**

**A/N: This is pretty much unedited, and was written late at night after a long time of studying. Had to get it out; don't kill me.**

_Beautiful Pieces_

Draco sighed.

Harry looked like an angel, the moonlight making his pitch-black hair seem to glow as it filtered through the creases in the curtains. His lidded eyes only showed a peek of the brilliant green that Draco knew could open wide and flash, full of life, at any minute, sparking something inside of him that no one else had been able to reach. His long eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks and a tongue flicked out on swollen, red lips.

His arm burned.

The skin of Draco's arm was so pale in the moonlight, blue veins tracing down his arms in a complex spider web of veins, of life. There was no ugly, dirty tattoo, no skull and no snake, no symbol of desperately-held-onto, now forsaken beliefs marring the ivory skin. But still the skin felt stretched, itching and peeling as though he had shoved it through the fire he gazed into now. He could feel the warm trickle of blood, pooling in the dip of his wrist and palm, where the skin would break. He could feel it swelling, sharply contrasting the tightness around it. His breaths sharpened and quickened as boils and sores rose from the red, irritated skin, as the mark became so hot that steam rose from it with a loud hiss and the smell of burning flesh.

But there was nothing there. Not yet.

The nightmares, the rolling, screaming thoughts had haunted both his day and night. It didn't matter if he was here, with Harry securely in his arms, or if he was in his common room; he would only see the flashing green eyes, the confident smile, every time he closed his eyes.

Moments like these reminded him of his childhood; when he would hug his teddy bear in the depths of the nights after waking from a nightmare, back before his father had told him he was too old for such things and had thrown it out. The warm body pressed against his, soft under his arms, just as comforting now as it had been when he was five years old. But now he could feel the chest under his arm move, feel the air brush his shoulder and neck with every breath Harry took, could hear his heartbeat. And he knew that if he closed his eyes he could forget about everything else, just become part of this dream world that was his and Harry's alone, and never wake up.

"I've got to go." His voice sounded too loud, too sharp, and he winced as it seemed to shatter the peaceful silence that hovered over them. Harry jerked slightly in his arms before slowly turning to face Draco, his brows furrowed, his emerald eyes asking his silent questions.

"Already?" His voice was soft and hesitant, lilting up in apprehension. His white teeth tugged at his bottom lip for a moment. Draco knew he could feel it, the trepidation; the simple knowing that filled them and echoed in their empty chests. The itching was gone from his arm, instead creeping through his stomach and chest, swaying and sliding its way up his throat.

He grunted in assent and, though his muscles screamed and his tendons strained to hold him again, he drew away from Harry. He shrugged his shirt back on, buttoning it without really thinking. He turned away as much as possible, taking longer on his pants then normal, carefully keeping his eyes averted from the boy across from him, still naked, still sitting on the old bed they had so many memories on.

"You're not coming back this time, are you." It wasn't a question, not really. Draco flinched at the flat tone. "This… you're done?" Harry's voice cracked on the last word and he visibly bit down on the rest of the sentence that was threatening to flow over his abused lips.

Draco kept his head down, glaring at the floor, and nodded. The silence was no longer otherworldly, nor peaceful, instead roaring and crashing around them as the air surrounding them tried to make sound.

He was almost out of the door when Harry caught him. "Draco, wait! Don't – don't leave." His eyes, so beautiful, so green, were wide, making him look younger and innocent. Draco had to bite down viciously on the inside of his cheek, glancing away at a cobwebbed corner before he was able to answer.

"Why not, Potter?" The sneer felt so wrong on his face, twisting and contorting his lips in impossible shapes. "We fucked; it's over. Why stay?"

Draco hated now, more then at any time in his life that Harry's face was so open, letting Draco see ever emotion that flickered across his face: shock, hurt, betrayal, anger, and something more, something neither of them could say.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like it doesn't mean anything." And that was Harry, always stepping over lines, always bringing up forbidden subjects, always barreling ahead without stopping to think about the consequences. Draco couldn't hear it though, couldn't remember the memories or he wouldn't be able to leave, not now, not ever.

"That's the thing, Potter. It _doesn't._ It _never did._ It was just a fuck, remember? No strings attached; do you remember that? Well, now we've fucked, we had a great run, but now it's over." Harry didn't know how much it hurt to say that, how dirty it felt to say that, like he was throwing up mud and blood.

Harry thrust him against the side of the doorway, the wood poking painfully into Draco's back, and shoved his lips against his, in a messy, sloppy, bloody kiss, filled with too much teeth and no tongue or soft caress. They stood like that awkwardly for a few minutes, their first kiss out in the open, where, if any student had walked by, they would have seen Harry kissing him. And Draco was frozen, because hurt too much to move. It would kill him to push Harry away but he knew he couldn't respond either.

Finally the kiss turned soft, Harry's tongue flicking out to wipe away a bit of blood from where he had bit Draco's lip too hard. His lips drew away, but only slightly, lingering, barely touching, his breath, always smelling of chocolate, wafting over Draco's oversensitive lips.

"Don't leave me." It was a whisper, barely a breath, a gasp, a rush. Draco closed his eyes against it, trying to pretend he couldn't hear Harry's breathless pleas.

"Harry…" Draco sighed back, his fingers caressing the familiar cowlick in the back of Harry's hair, feeling the memorized wave curl around his fingertips. "You don't understand."

"Tell me then; I'll help you, I promise. It'll be okay, Draco, just tell me what's wrong so I can fix it." There was a desperate need, an unquenchable thirst in Harry's voice.

"That's just it Harry; you can't fix this. I just… I just don't want you anymore." Draco had his eyes tightly shut, and now his teeth clamped down on his lip, causing a trickle of blood to run down his chin. But he had to concentrate on that, the sharp pain, the warm trickle, so that it wouldn't hurt to say the words.

Harry jerked back, his eyes wide and wild, the comforting closeness of his lips leaving a foreign chill where they had laid against his. A soft sound rose from his chest, bursting through his lips, a high keening, a faint wail, a low moan. A voice in Draco's head was chanting Harry's name over and over again, crying and sobbing, flinging itself against his tightly-locked lips. Harry's hands were half-raised, as though he were trying to defend himself from a physical blow, his eyes darkening to the shade of a forest in the dead of night.

Draco desperately tried to remember what it was like to be fourteen again, hating teary-eyed boy in front of him to the point of desperation. He tried to remember the scowl, the sneer, the smirk, the cold voice or the hateful tone he had been able to summon at a moments notice. But it seemed like a lifetime away, and the words hate and Harry would no longer mix, like oil and water, always separate. So all he could do was hold back the sobs that beat against his chest, was shove down the throbbing ache that had settled into his empty chest cavity and stumble away.

Harry was so tired, so empty, and he wouldn't be coming after Draco. Draco could still hear soft animalistic sounds erupting from Harry's chest, could still see Harry's knuckles turn white as he desperately clutched at the doorframe. He knew that Harry believed him; no matter how bad his acting was, he would always believe Draco, because that was how Harry was. And Harry was just so tired, and his legs were shaking so badly, and he couldn't breathe anymore. He had been ready to give up for so long and now the only thing that had kept him standing, kept him smiling, was walking away and really, what else could he do?

Draco's whole body hurt, but now the pain was receding from his left arm and moving to his chest and it hurt so much to breathe that he just stopped and stared as the world around him developed black spots. But it was too late to think it, too late to run back and scream it to the world, and whisper it to Harry. So Draco walked, pretending it was just heart burn; that he had stayed under the bath water for too long, until he was blue-faced and gasping for air. Because this Friday when he knelt down before a man he no longer admired, to pledge to a cause he no longer believed in, it wouldn't be okay, not anymore.

He wasn't in love; he couldn't be.

_My heart is made of nothing_

_But beautiful pieces_

_That add up to an ugly whole_

**A/N: Just a muse, nothing fantastic. Don't be too harsh. : P**


End file.
